Never Underestimate a Hufflepuff
by Doctor Song
Summary: So," he said conversationally, while his grip on his wand tightened even more. "Time travel then? Alternate dimensions? Voldemort induced hallucinations? Something else impossible?" AU, M for language
1. Ch 1: Well, that was interesting

AN. _I've never posted anything before, and while I realise another time travel story is somewhat of a cliche, I had this scene in my head and though I might as well post it and get some feedback. With the exception of a couple of stories in highschool, I've never really had anyone read anything I've written, so any criticisms and advice would be welcome. I owe some of the inspiration for this to AkoyaMizuno's Fortune Favours the Damned, which I highly recommend, and most of the time travel/alternate dimension stories on my favourites list. _

_Disclaimer: Everything recognisable belongs to JKR.  
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_Louise._

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_Or say that the end precedes the beginning, _

_And the end and beginning were always there. _

_Before the beginning and after the end, _

_And all is always now. _

T. S. Eliot, _Burnt Norton in Four Quartets._

Louis Bancroft was bored. Overwhelmingly so. It had been a completely ordinary day. No-one, not one student – not even the Marauders – had had the temerity to do _anything_ unusual or even the slightest bit interesting.

He'd always hated the day he to spend teaching duelling etiquette. _Etiquette_ for god's sake – as if he was some prim and proper spinster who cared about _manners_ in a fight for his life. He could just picture himself confronting some faceless criminal mastermind and berating them for improper _manner. 'Oh, how insufferably rude. It's not that you just flung a few unforgivables at me, I just can't excuse the fact that you didn't bow! Everyone knows it's not the magic that matters! It's the manner, dear boy, it's the manner!'_

Fortunately – usually – fate seemed to understand just how unutterably dull, how preposterously stupid, it was to teach etiquette and went out of her way to spice that particular day up for him. Last time he'd had to cover it, a brilliant student had managed to charm his classroom door so that it broke into a different song for every person who walked through it – and this was the brilliant bit – _according to their current mood._ He'd had a hard time keeping a straight face when a particularly maudlin pupil had entered the room to the strains of 'Don't let me be misunderstood'. It had been even more difficult when, after the shock had passed, the kid had seemed to commiserate with the lyrics, taking a seat with a woeful expression and casting his eyes heavenward in especially melodramatic fashion as he mouthed the words.

Louis sighed. Why, oh why, couldn't someone have been similarly inspired today? He gazed out at the Hogwarts evening feast sadly, not even pretending to hide his boredom. The day was almost over and it would have been wasted – no, ruined – by the unbearable combination of etiquette and tedium. Tedium, he decided, was like a fungus. A carnivorous fungus. It ate away at his day, sapping his energy and devouring every atom of interest from the world around him until everything was tainted by bitter, grey sludge.

It was, Louis thought, the worst possible torture.

It was with an expression of pure delight then, that he took in the formation of a strange patch of distorted air in the middle of the hall. It almost looked as if an unseen person had blown a giant bubble and filled it with some kind of iridescent vapour that danced, coiling and twisting on the strains of an unknown breeze. Louis couldn't help a kind of detached admiration for the beauty of the magic: whatever it was and however it had come to be, there was a brilliance to it that cut through the grey tinge that had thus far permeated his day.

Even when the forms of four people began to solidify within the not-quite-bubble and he found himself reacting precisely as the Hogwarts defence professor should – wand out, on his feet, face inscrutable – he couldn't help the part of him that was screaming with glee at having something _interesting_ to do. Catching the gleam in the eyes of Professor McGonagall and one or two others on the teaching staff he noted that in this, perhaps, he was not alone. Thus, as the distorted air disappeared as unexpectedly as it had formed and four very real and bloodied people dropped to the floor of the Great Hall, he found himself thanking Fate and silently asking her forgiveness for ever doubting she'd leave him to suffer alone.

Assessing the strangers, he noted that while two of them, a brown haired woman and a red headed man, appeared to be unconscious – or dead – the two men still standing had all his senses racing. In appearance they were as different as could be, one dark haired with glasses, one tall and blond with decidedly aristocratic features. It was entirely apparent from the sweat, blood and grime that covered them, from the gashes on the brunette's arm and the blonde's crimson tinged hair, that they had been in the middle of some sort of battle. It was also apparent, from the curses spewing from the brunette's mouth, that this situation was as much of a shock to them as it was to the population of the Great Hall, most of whom were staring in open astonishment and not a little alarm at this interruption to their dinner.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the HELL was that, bloody friggin' Voldemort, where in Merlin's name are we..."

Louis almost laughed out loud at the instinctive expression of disapproval that crossed some of his colleagues' faces at the young man's vocabulary, before they came to their senses and realised that, all things considered, it really wasn't the issue here. _After all, _he thought, _wouldn't you forgo decorum in their situation? Bloody wizards and bloody manners!_

A cold hard voice cut through the exclamations of surprise, as the Headmaster pointed his wand at the intruders, his body and face set in unforgiving lines.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my school?"_  
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The brunette looked up at his surroundings then, freezing in almost comical incredulity as he took in the shocked and silent faces in the hall and the far from friendly stances of the teachers facing him.

"Holy shit," he whispered and in the dead silence of the hall, it was enough to carry the words to every listening ear. "Draco. Draco!"

"I see them, Potter." The blonde kid – Draco?- was clearly tense, his face fixed into a hard and businesslike mask, his eyes calculating their position in this new and improbable setting. Only the faint undercurrent of hysteria in his voice and the taut lines of his body gave any indication that he was as nonplussed by their circumstances as his companion. Louis felt a certain professional admiration for his composure.

"Ron? Hermione?" The barely restrained tension in the kid's voice told Louis that whoever these people were, they were close, and this one, at least, was worried.

"Unconscious," Draco said softly, glancing behind him while Harry kept his eyes fixed on the frozen tableau in front of him and, meeting those eyes, Louis found himself re-evaluating the ragged young man in front of him. No matter that his face didn't show any of the composure of his friend, the wariness and intensity of that gaze told him very clearly that this kid was prepared for _anything. _

"What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know. Are we dead?"

Draco snorted at this. "Has the bloody Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die finally crossed to the other side, you mean?' As he glanced from Harry to the teacher's table to the rest of the hall, Louis heard him mutter, "Might have a point there. Though, why would we come _here_. I don't know about you, but school is not my idea of heaven."

_Now what was that supposed to mean. _Clearly, they both recognised some of the teachers, but rather than thinking they were anywhere familiar their first thought was that they were dead?

Harry made a rude gesture in Draco's direction, his gaze settling on the Headmaster, and Louis caught a hint of some unfathomable emotion in his face, before it was buried. _Huh, _he thought, _this kid has more masks than he's letting on. _This was proving to be more and more interesting. Just the memory of this one might make future etiquette days bearable.

Harry, on the other hand, was cursing whatever fate had conspired to further complicate their lives with this, this....well, whatever this was. Battling his fatigue and pain and staring at the living ghosts at the teacher's table, especially the one wearing the face of his long dead headmaster, he found himself almost irrationally angry at whatever sadistic _bastard_ had caused this particular situation. However, the last couple of years had taught him a lot about dealing with circumstances ordinary witches and wizards wouldn't even conceive of and he'd begun to develop a fairly unique perspective on the downright bizarre events of his life. Warring with his rage at their yet again unusual circumstances was a pretty strong sense of amusement at the lengths fate had gone to this time. What were the chances, really, that he'd defeat Voldemort in pitched battle, finally taking the arsehole down, only to be hit by an unknown and probably mispronounced spell cast by a Hufflepuff, for fuck's sake. That, having let his guard slip - since, you know, he'd just undergone the most draining experience of his life - he'd stumble and fall onto his friends, accidentally taking them with him as the spell dragged them through some sort of magical maelstrom and spat them out into the presence of a bunch of dead people, total strangers and utterly impossible surroundings. If they were dead, it was a bloody convoluted way to go about it.

Seriously, a_ Hufflepuff_ Death Eater? Who else would that happen to?

"See if you can wake Ron and Hermione," he said to Draco, just as can't-possibly-be-Dumbledore visibly straightened, no sign of twinkling to be seen, and spoke again.

"I will repeat the question. Who are you and how did you get here?"

At this, Harry could see Draco, turning to look over at the other two, stiffen and felt himself tensing even more in agreement. _Surely even a dead Dumbledore would remember who we are, _he thought, resigning himself to the possibility that things were even stranger than they seemed.

"Bollocks," he said out loud. "You don't recognise us?"

'No." The reply was terse.

"Ah. That's worrying."

Louis felt his eyebrows lifting at this exchange, not only at the non-answer, but at the clear evidence that they were familiar with some of the people in the room, including, apparently, the Headmaster. Who, if anything, seemed less than happy with Harry's light tone and vague answer.

"Considering four unknown and dangerous looking individuals have just appeared in the middle of my school – something no-one is supposed to be able to do – covered in blood, you'll understand why I have little patience for evasive answers. You will tell me who you are, sir."

Harry looked at him silently for a moment, then said wryly, "Considering we've just been involuntarily transported from an unpleasant situation – as you can see from the fact that we're covered in blood – into a wholly unexpected, and frankly, impossible setting, you can understand why I might be hesitant to give up our identities." He heard Draco's amused snort behind him as he muttered, "Unpleasant? Unexpected? Way to understate it, Potter..."

Louis' estimation of the young man went up. He could see the faint flash of surprise that crossed the Headmaster's countenance at this response, but it was nothing to the bemused and unbelieving looks of his colleagues as they watched this young man, swaying on his feet from fatigue and god knows what else, answer an intimidating Albus Dumbledore with what looked like... amusement? He felt like high fiving the kid just for the novelty of seeing someone counter Dumbledore with such composure. He respected the Headmaster like no other wizard he knew, but god knows it was refreshing to see him having to work for something.

Harry held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed wearily. "My name is Harry."

"Just Harry?"

"For now".

Oh, was that an unsatisfied tone in the Headmaster's voice? _You go kid._

Fortunately for Harry, whatever Dumbledore had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of movement behind him as Ron, and then Hermione, joined them in the waking world.

"'Bout bloody time you two joined the party," Harry said lightly, feeling the tight knot of apprehension inside him loosen slightly with relief. _Wherever they were, at least they were together. _

"Harry?" Ron asked faintly, sitting up to gaze around him in utter confusion, "What's going on?"

"Weelllll," he replied, drawing it out and refusing to take his eyes off the increasingly impatient looking faux-Dumbledore, "I still say we're dead."

Feeling Draco looking at him in exasperation, he muttered, "I sure as hell feel like I'm dead."

"We're not dead, Potter! We're...somewhere else..."

"Oh yeah, well that's helpful," was the sarcastic response.

Hermione, who'd been taking in her surroundings as she struggled upright, hesitantly interjected, her eyes on something across the room.

"Uh, Harry. He's right. I don't think we're dead."

Harry followed her line of sight, careful to keep the head table in his peripheral vision. As he saw what she was looking at, his face morphed into blank shock for a split second, before it was gone, hidden again behind a veneer of carefully composed nonchalance.

"Bloody hell," he breathed, looking at what appeared to be a nearly carbon copy of himself, staring back at him with similar shock and sitting next to a very healthy, very young and very alive Sirius Black, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

"So," he said conversationally, while his grip on his wand tightened even more. "Time travel then? Alternate dimensions? Voldemort induced hallucinations? Something else impossible?"

Draco and Ron, still staring at the younger versions of the Marauders, had no coherent answer to give. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Draco's gaze inched over to the supposedly-Slytherin table and found another familiar visage watching proceedings with barely concealed interest through a curtain of greasy black hair. _This is bloody wierd. _

While the rest of the hall was still staring at them in utter bewilderment, at Harry's flippant remark, Dumbledore's expression took on a look of comprehension, seeming to grasp a little of the familiar yet impossible setting these strangers were finding themselves in. Catching this, Harry was surprised and a little alarmed at the twinge of reassurance it gave him, at the comfort in the notion that possibly-Dumbledore might know what was going on. _Bloody hell, I really must be tired, _he thought, _if I'm trusting the unvoiced theories of a stranger wearing Dumbledore's face. _

Louis caught the faint flash of relief that in Harry's eyes as he noted Dumbledore's increasing grasp of the situation and wondered for the fifth time in as many minutes, just who these people were, that a man who only resembled someone they knew could offer such instinctive reassurance. Whoever they recognised in the Headmaster must have been someone they trusted intuitively, although the tightening of the kid's face showed that no matter what his instinctive response was, he too recognised the difference between that person and the one standing in front of him.

The young woman, he noticed, had taken this opportunity to stagger up behind Harry and was whispering urgently in his ear, her gaze flicking over her companions, no doubt cataloguing their injuries.

She was, in particular, noting just how tightly he and Draco were holding themselves together, recognising that they were both holding on through a combination of incredulity and necessity.

"Harry, we need to get out of here. I don't know what's happened to us, although I'm inclined to think some sort of time travel spell, but we need medical aid. Fast."

Harry nodded, shifting his gaze back to the Head table and the still wary Professors.

"Right. Be ready then, in case this turns ugly." These softly spoken words seemed to bring Ron and Draco out of their shocked stupor and with Hermione, they straightened, ignoring the pain. Their hands tightened around their wands and their eyes roved warily around the hall, finding potential exits as they positioned themselves behind Harry. Though they seemed to be unaware of it, the picture they presented – bloodied, wearied and fatigued, yet clearly ready to defend themselves – both alarmed and impressed their onlookers. Louis felt himself responding instinctively; readying himself for action and slipping even further into battle mode. He studied them all critically, realising by the way they carried themselves that while Harry and Draco seemed to be the most immediate threat, it wouldn't do to underestimate the other two either. In fact, he noted that all four of them had sent an assessing look his way and appeared to have singled him out as a potential threat. He felt vaguely gratified that they'd noticed, although he would have been amazed if they hadn't.

"Headmaster," Harry said, speaking clearly and without emotion as Professor Dumbledore focused on him. "Are you Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?"

"Yes," answered the Headmaster shortly.

"Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and defeater of Grindlewald?

"Yes."

"Right. Wasn't really expecting you to say otherwise, to be honest. This might seem a bit strange, but what's your favourite flavour of jam?"

Louis saw his own confusion at that question reflected in nearly every other face in the hall. Even Dumbledore looked bewildered for a moment, but answered calmly.

"Raspberry. Do you have any other questions about my culinary preferences, or might we go back to the problem of who you are and how you appeared in my school?"

"I'm getting to that, Professor." Harry showed no sign of being flustered by the Headmaster's increasingly dark tone. "This question's a bit more serious, if you like. Are you in any way associated with a man named Voldemort, if he even exists wherever this is? Do you follow him? Support him? Are you – this – some sort of deranged hallucinogenic creation of his?" He waved his free hand at the great hall and its inhabitants in a dismissive gesture that seemed to convey just how ludicrous he thought the whole state of affairs was.

Louis' eyes narrowed at the kid's casual use of a name wizarding Britain was beginning to fear unconditionally. Neither he, nor his companions flinched at the reference to the dark wizard, nor seemed surprised that Harry had asked what he did, although he noticed they looked vaguely amused at something. He wondered what they could possibly find to laugh at in such a topic, not hearing Ron mutter under his breath, "Voldemort, a mere man? Oh, he'd love that..."

Dumbledore was, if anything, regarding the four young people before him with even more astonishment and not a little bemusement at the notion that he himself was a hallucination.

"I am not."

Harry nodded, not really expecting any other answer and having to trust his instincts when they said Dumbledore was telling the truth. It would take a seriously weird turn of events to make Dumbledore support Voldemort, even if there was a chance he was an illusion.

All the same. "To be clear, you support the light? And stand opposed not only to Voldemort but also to the ideals he stands for and the methods he uses?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes."

Louis felt a slight tendril of approval at this young man's understanding of the difference between the evil of the man and the evil of the ideas he exacerbated and saw a similar appreciation in the Headmaster's eyes.

"So you're definitely not part of a plot masterminded by Snakeface to destroy our sanity or otherwise harm us using hallucinations or minions transfigured to represent all that we've lost?"

Louis snorted and saw the Headmaster look rather taken aback at this one. Harry could see Hermione rolling her eyes to his left.

"What?" he asked indignantly, "It's possible."

"For god's sake, Potter."

"Fine, fine. I just wanted to check." Looking at his friends for approval out of the corner of his eye, Harry went on, "If we were to assure you that we do not mean harm to any of the innocents in this castle, or anyone who stands against Voldemort, would you swear on your magic not to harm us and allow us the use of the school as a sanctuary until we figure out what in Merlin's name has happened?" He could see Ron, Hermione and Draco nod shortly in agreement as Dumbledore's gaze flicked over them questioningly.

Louis saw the Headmaster looking carefully at the young man speaking, noting again the way he held himself and his obvious designation as leader. There was a look in his eyes which said, quite clearly, that he was prepared to take on the entire hall if he thought Dumbledore was deceiving him, _despite his obvious injury. _Louis felt a slight chill as he struggled to comprehend what sort of experiences could create that kind of an attitude in one so young. He was beginning to think that maybe this whole incident was a wee bit _too _out of the ordinary.

Dumbledore seemed to come to some sort of decision then. "I would," he said in reply to Harry's query, ignoring the slightly indrawn breaths of his colleagues, excluding Louis. The defence professor rather thought he would have made the same decision. They were dangerous, yes, but these four young people didn't feel like they were a threat to Hogwarts. To be honest, despite some apprehension when he wondered about their background, he felt a kind of kinship with them, a sense that he might be able to relate to them. At the very least, he thought, looking at them, they'd be likely to have a similar intolerance for etiquette.

"Excellent!" Harry exclaimed, his whole face lighting up with an expression completely at odds with the seriousness of the conversation, although – and only Dumbledore and Louis seemed to notice this – it didn't reach his eyes, which were still as intense as they were before. "I hereby swear on my magic and my life that neither I nor my companions will intentionally harm those within this castle unless they have directly or indirectly caused harm to come to us first, or threatened our safety." As he spoke a faint swirl of power manifested itself around him, flaring up around his body in a white glow before receding. He stumbled, unprepared for the weakness that followed, coughing as he caught his breath, and missed the significant look Dumbledore exchanged with his defence professor at Harry's cavalier demonstration of power.

'Bloody hell," he swore, _need to get out of here fast. _Looking up at the Headmaster, he raised his eyebrows in invitation and waited expectantly.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, "I, Albus Dumbledore, as Headmaster of this school, do swear on my magic that I will not knowingly let harm come to any of you while you reside within this castle, provided you do not pose a threat to myself or any of those under my protection."

"Brilliant." Harry said, letting some of the tension run out of his body and noticing Ron and Draco subtly relaxing beside him. "Don't suppose you could tell us exactly where we are? And maybe what year it is?"

"You are currently in the great hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The year is 1978. March the 15th to be precise."

Despite expecting it, Harry felt the words hit him heavily, on top of everything else, and threaten to overwhelm his already barely lucid consciousness. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see the same understanding of the enormity of their situation in the faces of his friends; see it bearing down on them, seemingly insurmountable in their exhausted state.

"Right. Definitely not dead then," he muttered to himself as he gave into the darkness hovering on the edge of his consciousness and collapsed.

Draco looked at his prone body, swore, said something along the lines of "Ginny's going to kill us," and swiftly followed his friend into oblivion.

Louis Bancroft gazed at the scene before him, sheathed his wand and, relaxing his aching muscles, turned to the Headmaster, raised an eyebrow and remarked with a strange sort of satisfaction, "Well, that was interesting.


	2. Ch 2: Don't you dare

_AN: Short chapter this time. Kind of a nothing chapter really - I promise the next will be more interesting. Still, I'd really appreciate reviews. I've no idea how this reads to other people, so please, let me know what you think. _

_Louise _

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_Louis Bancroft gazed at the scene before him, sheathed his wand and, relaxing his aching muscles, turned to the Headmaster, raised an eyebrow and remarked with a strange sort of satisfaction, "Well, that was interesting"._

The Headmaster nodded absently at his defence professor's remark, his attention on the two unconscious men being checked over by their almost unconscious companions. He murmured an incantation and a silvery jet of light left his wand and headed out through the walls, presumably towards the hospital wing and Madame Pomphrey. This done, he stepped out from behind the table and moved down towards the strangers, directing a half-serious look of disapproval in Louis' direction.

"You, my friend, are enjoying this far too much."

Louis didn't even attempt to look apologetic, as he followed. "I'm not the only one, Headmaster. Don't deny it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly for a second before fixing in genuine concern on the fatigued figures in front of him.

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Having satisfied herself that her friends were in no immediate danger and had, more than anything else, simply succumbed to exhaustion, Hermione struggled to her feet and faced the Headmaster. The murmuring that had risen to a crescendo when Harry and Draco had collapsed was rising again, layer upon layer, as the natural curiosity of the surrounding students slowly overwhelmed their apprehension. The swell of noise threatened to engulf Hermione as she swayed on her feet, its every decibel bringing this impossible reality home and quite clearly stating that she could not give into her fatigue yet. Not even with Ron ready to catch her, knowing that he would do everything in his power to protect them all.

Not here, not yet.

"Perhaps we could move to the hospital wing, Professor?" Looking down at herself, she laughed shakily. "We're hardly in the condition to continue this here."

"I quite agree, young lady. I've already alerted our medi-witch. May I?" Dumbledore gestured to Harry and Draco's bodies with his wand, obviously meaning to levitate them but unwilling – prudently, Louis, thought, taking note of the wary eyes of the redhead – to do so without permission.

Hermione looked like she wanted to object, but nodded her head shortly.

"You may. I'm not sure we'd be able to keep them steady," she said, gesturing to herself and Ron.

"Speak for yourself," he shot back, but Louis could see the weariness in his eyes and the trembling in his limbs.

Dumbledore shot a glance at Professor McGonagall, silently asking her to take care of the increasingly excited students, before turning to the prone bodies before him.

"_Mobilicorpus," _he muttered and briskly followed the bodies out of the great hall, floating them before him as if they were nothing more than rag dolls, belying the blood that dripped sporadically from their clothes and, one would assume, their wounds. Louis turned a critical eye on the other two as they fell in behind the strange procession, noting the ever so slight jerkiness in Ron's movements and the faint glaze dulling Hermione's eyes.

"Can you make it?" He asked bluntly.

They both bristled at the question and he noticed that they were far more nervous around him than they had been around Dumbledore. _Guess there isn't one of me wherever they come from, _he thought to himself wryly. _Or you're not on good terms, _the more cynical side of his brain interjected.

"Yes," snapped Ron, placing himself so he was between the defence professor and Hermione and making sure neither of them had their backs to Louis.

Louis simply raised an eyebrow, observing this and letting it go without comment. He too, made sure the strangers didn't have the advantage of being behind him. Interested he might be, buoyed by the broken monotony, but he wasn't about to translate that excitement into stupidity.

All in all, it was a good thing Hogwarts corridors were so wide.

They continued in silence for a moment, before Hermione let out a small gasp, stiffening momentarily and half-running towards Dumbledore and his unconscious cargo as they passed through the doors to the hospital wing. Ron's features flashed from alarm to bemusement and back again, before he seemed to cotton on to whatever had got her upset and hurried after her. Louis followed, breaking into a jog and making it into the hospital wing in time to hear Hermione frantically explaining something to Dumbledore and an increasingly irate medi-witch.

"Not touch them! What do you mean, I can't touch them? And how am I supposed to heal them if I can't administer treatment?"

"The clothes are spelled to stay on – they can't be removed by anyone but the wearer. There's some nasty side effects if you try. We've just come from fighting a war," Hermione explained tiredly, as if their injured bodies hadn't already suggested this. "It's standard procedure, in case of capture. I'm sorry. You just can't take them off."

Madame Pomphrey looked, if anything, more upset by this explanation. "War," she muttered angrily to herself, and it was apparent she either doubted Dumbledore's explanation of their origins or he hadn't had time to explain the situation. "As if we wouldn't have heard of a war where _children_ were fighting."

Hermione heard this and, too tired to easily suffer being patronised, her eyes flashed at the medi-witch. "Don't you _dare _doubt me," she said coldly, straightening up and pinning Madame Pomphrey with her gaze, ignoring Ron's gentle touch on her arm. "We are not _children. _We have fought for our lives, we have watched our friends die and we have _killed_ to protect those we love. Don't you _dare._"

Madame Pomphrey swallowed nervously as Hermione continued, still speaking in an icy tone.

"You cannot take our clothes off, because if we allowed strangers to remove our personal possessions and protections we would have died long ago. You cannot touch them because those two have been subjected to more than you can possible imagine and have magical defences set up to prevent strangers touching them while they are unaware. There was no time to take them down."

"Between the being ripped out of a battle, dumped in a bloody impossible situation and collapsing? More like we had other things to think about and forgot the blasted things were still up," was Ron's blunt contribution.

Louis felt his eyebrows rising into his hair at this exchange. _Merlin, _he thought, _what kind of war had these kids been in? _

Madame Pomphrey's mouth was opening and shutting as her struggle to understand what on earth was going on here warred with her professional need to treat her patients.

"Headmaster?" she said weakly, turning to Dumbledore rather than face the irate young woman in front of her. "What...who.....war? How? Who are these people?"

Dumbledore simply looked thoughtful. "It's a long story Poppy, one even we don't fully understand yet. Suffice to say that these young people mean us no harm and are for the moment under my protection. I'm afraid we shall just have to work around these restrictions."

He tapped a finger on his chin. "Can you remove the defences on yourself and your friend, Hermione, was it?"

Both Hermione and Ron looked less than happy with this idea, but seemed to realise it would be counter productive to refuse and nodded reluctantly in his direction. Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at them and motioned towards Harry and Draco.

"Then perhaps you might allow Madame Pomphrey to do what she can for your friends?

Hermione nodded again and, with a further warning glance at the medi-witch, moved out from in front of Harry and Draco's unconscious forms to stand, leaning on Ron, at the end of their beds. They watched silently as Madame Pomphrey attended to their friends, running her wand in patterns over them, muttering incantations to herself and occasionally glaring at Hermione as if to blame her for being unable to do any more than that. Louis could have sworn he heard her mutter something about the cruciatus curse as she did his work and filed it away, not wanting to think about the implications of that just yet. Turning his gaze back to Hermione and Ron, he watched as they both shook their heads at Dumbledore's gesture towards the beds next to Harry and Draco, preferring to stay standing and watchful until their friends had been taken care of.

Privately, despite his respect for their loyalty to each other, Louis thought it an unnecessary vigil. They were obviously exhausted and in pain and by refusing themselves any sort of reprieve they did nothing other than worsen their own condition. Then again, he wasn't the one in a foreign situation. If he were them, even with Dumbledore's vow, perhaps he too would have trouble letting his friends out of his sight.

Finally, after copious comments the idiocy of bloody wizards who abused their bodies and numerous mutterings about the kind of people who wouldn't let a healer do her job, Madame Pomphrey finished with the two young men and Hermione and Ron allowed themselves to be treated. It was with obvious trepidation that they listened to the medi-witch's insistence on a sleeping draught and it was only Hermione's whispered intervention that prevented Ron from refusing outright.

"Professor," she said, addressing Dumbledore, "I... could we ask that no-one other than yourself and Madame Pomphrey enter this room while we're asleep?" _And unable to defend ourselves_. Louis didn't need to hear the unspoken thought and, so it seemed, neither did Dumbledore, who gazed back at Hermione with understanding. "The vows....well, they're something, but they're not infallible. We have no choice but to trust you for now, but you can't vouch for everyone's actions and well....we don't really know the people here..." She glanced almost imperceptibly in Louis' direction and he met her gaze, calmly, with a raised eyebrow.

Ron interrupted. "What's she's trying to say is that unless you can promise us that no-one else will come in here while we're out, one of us will stay on guard at all times."

"I was trying to be diplomatic about it, Ronald."

"There's no diplomatic way to put it, 'Mione." Turning to Dumbledore, Ron shrugged apologetically. "It's not that we don't trust you, it's just that, well, we _can't _trust you. Not yet. Not with what we've been through. There's no way we're remaining in here undefended if anyone can just wander in."

Madame Pomphrey was practically spluttering by now. "On guard? Stay awake?! Do you have any idea of the damage you'll do to your health if you don't sleep now? Neither of you are in any condition to remain awake!"

Ron looked at her calmly. "We can survive for a little longer on pepper up and some energy spells. If you cannot promise us this, it's one of us awake at all times, or both of us. We'll take shifts."

Louis re-appraised the young redhead carefully. To be honest, he hadn't taken much notice of him during the confrontation in the hall. His attention had been on the other two, especially the brunette and Ron hadn't really done anything to distinguish himself. Standing here now, watching him, Louis began to re-evaluate his first impression. Seeing the way Hermione was resting on him, the way she was looking at him and the way he had been looking at her and his unconscious friends, Louis thought he understood a little more of the kind of man Ron was. He was the stalwart, the friend who provided support and always had your back, the one who would be there when no-one else was. He wouldn't shine, not in the company of friends like his, but he'd be solid and unwavering instead. And when they weren't there, he would be: just as capable, just as strong and just as dangerous. Louis suspected, looking at him, that he'd come to terms with this long ago. Who knows, maybe he'd resented their brilliance once upon a time, but now, standing there calm and resolute, he seemed to know exactly who he was.

They were a remarkable group of people, really, Louis reflected. An intimidating and, seemingly, brilliant witch, a sharp and composed aristocrat, a strong and stalwart wizard and a powerful and unpredictable leader. A remarkable combination. He doubted that anything was ever dull when these four were together.

Dumbledore's voice cut through his musing. "There's no need for that. I will ward the door to admit only myself and Madame Pomphrey. Poppy, can you remain here and let me know when they wake?"

Madame Pomphrey looked apologetic. "I can stay Headmaster, but if you ward the door, I'll have to leave if anyone else needs me. I won't ignore my charges."

"That's fine Poppy." Fixing his eyes on Ron, the Headmaster continued, with a hint of command in his voice, "If neither of us is here, however, the wards will also prevent you from leaving this room. You may not be able to trust me, but it runs both ways. I will not allow you to roam this castle unsupervised until I know more."

Louis noticed that both the strangers bristled at what was, basically, a suggestion of imprisonment, but, having exchanged an unreadable glance with his companion, Ron nodded shortly in the Dumbledore's direction. "Understood, Headmaster."

"Very well. Louis, if you will." Dumbledore gestured towards the door and Louis nodded politely in the direction of Ron and Hermione, before proceeding out into the hallway. Dumbledore exchanged a few words with Madame Pomphrey and followed him out, warding the door on the way.

"My office, Louis. Dinner should be over by now, and I imagine there are a few people who would like to discuss tonight's events."

Louis laughed at this, knowing that most, if not all of the staff, were even now gathered outside the entrance to the Headmaster's office, clamouring about the appearance of the four young people. With the exception of Professor McGonagall and possibly Professor Flitwick, he knew that they would be exchanging theories on the origins of the strangers, probably getting more and more outlandish as time went on, and asserting their own personal assessment of the threat they posed. He suspected there was already a betting pool running on where they had come from and what their 'intentions' were. No doubt there was one amongst the students as well, if the Marauders had anything to do with it. As they certainly would have.

Ah. Louis made a mental note to be on the lookout for any inquisitive students, particularly a quartet of Gryffindor troublemakers. The student population would be desperate to find out anything they could about what had happened tonight and they could be particularly inventive when they wanted something. He wouldn't put it past them, especially the Marauders, who seemed to think that boundaries were for other people, to try and get past Dumbledore's wards. He mentioned as much to the Headmaster as they made their way towards his office, and Dumbledore smiled.

"I wondered about that. Nothing should be able to get into the hospital wing that I don't know about. We shall have to be careful about what we say in public, however, until we know more. Merlin knows what kind of rumours could start from what we do know."

"It should be interesting to watch them try though, Headmaster. I imagine they'll have to get fairly creative this time."

Dumbledore chuckled at this. "I imagine they will." Glancing sidelong at the defence professor, his eyes twinkled slightly. "Best duelling etiquette day so far, Louis?"

Louis' answer matched the Headmaster's dry tone as he nodded. "And thank Merlin for that, Albus, thank Merlin for that."


	3. Ch 3: Past, present and future

_A/N (27/04/10):_ _Sorry for the wait. I'm still not happy with this chapter, but I can't stare at it anymore. It's another short-ish one, so sorry about that as well. On the bright side, I wrote the end for this story today, so at least you know it's going somewhere. _

_I've made a couple changes to the last two chapters over the past weeks - mostly just fixing up punctuation and grammar I'd missed when I uploaded them, but there's a couple of small bits of writing I've added as well. I should warn anyone reading this that that sort of thing is likely to happen to most of the chapters I post, as I'm posting without a beta and I find mistakes every single time I read back over them. I can promise that I won't change anything major. _

_Like always, please review. _

_Louise_

_ (I just realised that my pen name is Louise and my main character's name is Louis. Oops. Totally unintentional, I promise. That's what comes of using a pen name - you tend to forget what it is...)  
_

* * *

In the end, it had taken little less than half an hour to debrief the collective staff of Hogwarts, simultaneously reassuring them and issuing instructions on what, exactly, they were to tell the hordes of inquisitive students who were, no doubt, currently forming theories of their own. For the most part, Dumbledore steered away from giving any definitive answers or opinions on the origins of the four strangers, preferring merely to reiterate that they were no danger to anyone in the school at this stage, although they were certainly not to be considered harmless, and that he hoped they would know more tomorrow. Students were to be told, under no uncertain circumstances, not to try and infiltrate the wards on the hospital wing or undertake any other kinds of amateur sleuthing (although, Louis, and most of the teachers there, knew this kind of order would simply add fuel to the fire) and, eventually, having answered a veritable flood of questions, ranging from the practical to the less, ah..._sensible_, Dumbledore ushered them out the door, promising to update them all once he knew more.

Professor's McGonagall and Flitwick remained, along with Louis, and it seemed that they too were exhibiting the same kind of worn patience he was feeling. After a brief moment in which all four revelled in the vacuum of noise created by the departure of the staff, Dumbledore had sighed, almost imperceptibly, and reached for parchment and ink, scribbling a brief note that he then handed to Fawkes, who disappeared in a flash of light.

Minerva turned inquisitive eyes towards the Headmaster. "The Order?" she asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm certain they'll hear about it soon enough. Best to inform everyone of the situation first-hand, just in case. I don't think that they're a threat, but these days," he said, a frown creasing his brow and darkening his eyes at the thought of the ever increasing attacks and deaths within the wizarding world, "we must be careful."

Minerva nodded. "When and where, Albus?"

"Here," he said, absently, as he searched his desk for his dish of lemon drops. "In an hour. Aha!" as he found it hiding under a stack of papers on the properties of dragons blood and a worn copy of the tales of Beedle the Bard and offered them silently to his staff, almost out of reflex, for they never ever accepted. He wondered briefly why they seemed so suspicious every time he offered them candy.

Louis saw the transfiguration professor restrain herself from rolling her eyes at the Headmaster's sweet tooth, as Filius piped up and asked the question on all of their minds.

"Who do you think they are, Albus? Truly?"

Louis opened his eyes, watching the Headmaster with interest, as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful.

"I suspect that, however strange and impossible it might be, they are either time travellers, or have somehow crossed the boundaries between realities. I'm inclined to believe they have travelled in time, from the future, quite possibly against their wishes. I don't know if you noticed, Minerva, but the young man they refer to as Harry bears a marked resemblance to one of your seventh year Gryffindors."

"That, and his friend referred to him as 'Potter'," Louis added.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, shooting his defence professor a sharp look. "The young red head – Ron – also looks like he could be a Weasley and the tall blond one - Draco – most definitely has Malfoy blood. I don't recognise the young woman - Hermione, I think it was."

"A Malfoy?" Professor McGonagall couldn't help the note of disbelief that crept its way into her voice. "And a Potter? Together with a Weasley? Albus... it's just not... A Potter and Weasley, maybe – but a Malfoy? Lucius...Albus, you know the rumours..."

Albus sighed again, more heavily this time, as he nodded. "Yes. I know the rumours."

Lucius Malfoy, having graduated from Hogwarts, had for some time now been one of the names most often linked both to the politics of pureblood supremacy and the violent attacks carried out on muggles, muggleborns and, now, half-bloods, by the followers of Lord Voldemort.

"They say he's one of You-Know-Who's closest supporters. Daedelus swears he saw him at that raid on the McKinnon's last week. His mask slipped off and well, he's got fairly distinctive hair. And he and James hated each other when he was here. He was a victim of their pranks more than once, from what I remember."

"Not to mention the feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys," added Flitwick. "They loathe each other with something more than ordinary hatred. If they are, as you say, Albus, from the future, then surely only something catastrophic could make a Weasley, Potter and Malfoy fight together."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Dumbledore murmured. He lifted his eyes to the wall behind Louis, staring at something only he could see, as he said, softly. "What terror does this future hold, I wonder."

He seemed to collect himself after a moment, his gaze snapping back to look at each of them sharply. "We must not ask them. I will not know, until I have spoken to them again, whether or not the spell that sent them here will prevent changes to their own timeline, but it would not do to interrogate them about the future in either case." His expression became distant again. "Knowledge is a dangerous thing, knowledge of the future doubly so. To know what has yet to come..." His voice trailed off.

"But surely, Albus," Minerva asked, "we could do something to prevent whatever has made their lives so terrible?"

Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully. "Could we? What if there is nothing that we could do? What if they are already facing the consequences of our bad decisions? How could we know what would change and what would not? We would be meddling with things we do not understand, Minerva. The temptation to play God would be great – to re-fashion an entire timeline according to our own wishes? To change this and leave that and tweak this – who knows what the consequences would be, for them or for us? Merlin knows we already try to manipulate the future enough. Every choice we make, every attempt to plan ahead, to estimate the effects of our actions, or predict the actions of others – how much more dangerous could the consequences be if we had a blueprint to work from? We would not simply be changing our own futures, Minerva, we would be changing the future of an entire world. The _past_ of an entire world. What is unknown to us has already happened to them – has _created _them. Who are we to undo that?"

McGonagall didn't look convinced.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm not saying that we rule it out completely, if, indeed, it is possible – and I have my doubts about that - but I do believe that it should be their choice. It is, after all, _their_ past, present and future. And at this stage, I think it would be better for us not to know." His thoughtful expression was tinged with something else now, faint traces of sorrow and sympathy. "I suspect that there is a great deal about their lives and their time that we simply cannot conceive of and, most likely, would not want to. It would be a heavy burden to bear, especially if nothing was to be done about it. No, for now, I think, it is best to continue to shape our future as we always have, out of the present and the past."

Professor McGonagall still looked unhappy with the idea, but nodded at the Headmaster in acquiescence. Filius merely looked thoughtful, as if the moral and ethical issues of time travel were simply an interesting puzzle, and Louis had chosen to follow Dumbledore's lead on this and wait for more information before worrying too much about it.

"Right then," said the Headmaster, popping a lemon drop into his mouth and glancing at the clock. "The Order should be here in a little while, and I suspect we may have to have this conversation again. Until then, Filius, would you do a quick check of the castle, to make sure no other anomalies have occurred tonight? I doubt there will be any, but it would not hurt to check. Minerva, would you make sure no students – particularly your ever curious Marauders – are hanging around the hospital wing? And Louis..."

"I know, I know, Albus," Louis said with a smile. "Make myself scarce until the meeting is over."

Dumbledore twinkled at the defence professor. "You know you're more than welcome to join us, dear boy. I keep asking and you keep refusing."

Louis grinned at the Headmaster. "If that was another request, the answer's still no. I'll do my part to fight Voldemort and his followers, but the protection of the students from _all _dark magics is my primary concern."

"That, and you can't stand Alastor." Minerva quipped as she left the room.

Louis' grin widened. "The man is a menace. Nobody should be that paranoid."

Dumbledore held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. Then, perhaps while we are meeting you could keep an eye on the hospital wing and its occupants? You won't be able to enter, but you can notify me if anything takes place?"

Louis nodded at the Headmaster. "Of course, Albus."

As he made his way through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, he reflected on what the Headmaster had said. Time travel – it was an interesting dilemma. There were many things he regretted about his own life, circumstances he wished he could have changed, mistakes he would unmake and situations in which he wished that he had known a tenth of what he knew now. But to change it....on the surface it seemed like such a simple choice. Why shouldn't he leap at the opportunity to rectify the past? To make his life better – to make his world better. But, as he thought about Dumbledore's words, he wondered again if it would ever be that simple. What kind of a man would he be if he had not lived through what he had? If he had not made the mistakes he had and learnt from them? There were things he would not know. And who was to say that changing the past would make the present _better._

His musings were cut short as a bone chilling scream tore through the air from the direction of the hospital wing. Without thinking about it, he broke into a sprint and arrived at the door to the strangers' ward in record time to see Madame Pomphrey furiously trying to calm a screaming, writhing Harry without touching him, as he cried out with all the force of someone undergoing the cruciatus curse.

Unable to make it through Albus' ward to help, Louis could only sent a hurried patronus back to Dumbledore, and stand helplessly at the door, watching and feeling more useless than ever before.

Harry's body was arching on the bed, his hands whitening as they gripped the edge of the mattress and his face was etched with pain as he screamed in his sleep. The sound was raw and jagged and piercing enough to penetrate even Ron and Hermione's potion induced slumber, causing them to twitch and jerk in their beds.

It was more than piercing enough to break through Draco's unconscious exhaustion and he woke suddenly, rolling off the bed and onto his feet in one fluid movement, wand in hand, before realising that the terrible cries of pain were coming from his companion. Pushing past an increasingly frantic medi-witch, he grasped Harry's shoulders and shook him, obviously able to get through the protections he was under.

"Harry. Harry! Come on, wake up!" Holding him down with one hand and half sitting on him, Draco slapped his friend's face brusquely and the _crack _of his hand striking skin severed the agonising screams in mid-cry as Harry woke, shaking uncontrollably and ghostly pale.

His eyes were vulnerably wide and he stared at Draco with desperation and pleading and echoes of unimaginable agony.

"S'posed to be over," he whispered faintly, with all the emotion of one who had finally climbed out of the abyss only to find that he had fallen to the bottom again in the night.

There was no trace of the sarcastic Slytherin in Draco's manner as he held Harry's shoulders gently but firmly and stared back with sympathy and a hint of the same desperation.

"I know. It _is _over, dammit."

Outside the room, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor as teachers and students alike ran to the hospital wing, having heard the screaming and come to find out what was going on. Louis moved to stand in front of the door and block their view of the young men, unable to shut the door from his side of the ward, but feeling that neither Harry nor Draco deserved to be stared at right now.

'You lot. Yes, you, James Potter. All of you, back to your dorms. _Now_. There's nothing to concern you here." He glared at the increasing number of students of all ages and houses who were filling up the corridor. _Nothing like the sound of agonising pain to draw a crowd. _"Detention to anyone still here in sixty seconds. Go on, back to your houses."

"But Professor, who was screaming?"

"Was it one of the wizards from the hall?"

"Who are they, Professor?"

"Yeah, where'd they come from? Why are they screaming?"

"ENOUGH!" Professor McGonagall's stern Scots brogue cut through the babble like a knife as she arrived behind the Headmaster, followed by half of the Order of the Phoenix. "As Professor Bancroft said. Back to your dorms, all of you. I don't care, Mr. Black, if you're not out of my sight in thirty seconds you'll be serving detention with Mr. Filch for the rest of the week. GO!"

Dumbledore hadn't even stopped, leaving his deputy to deal with the onlookers and heading straight towards Louis.

"What happened?" he said, his eyes on the young people through the ward.

"It looked like he - Harry - was being tortured in his sleep. Draco – the blond one – woke him up. Poppy's been frantic."

Dumbledore nodded shortly. "Stand guard?" he asked.

"Of course, Headmaster," Louis answered, as Dumbledore stepped through the wards and closed the door behind him.

Inside the room, the almost-frozen tableau was startled into movement by the Headmaster's entrance, as Harry's eyes snapped towards the door, suddenly aware of his audience. Madame Pomphrey moved towards her patient and Draco sat back on the bed, carefully removing his hands from Harry's shoulders and instinctively slipping back into his mask.

"Alright, Potter?" he said then and the twitch of Harry's mouth as he glanced at Draco said that he too had his masks in place once more.

"Oh, you know me," he croaked, his voice hoarse and ragged from the screaming. "I'm fine. Just a dream."

"I do believe that is a lie, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted, giving Harry a pointed look. "If that had been an ordinary dream, you would have woken yourself up. And I don't think I've ever heard someone in so much pain from a mere dream." He raised an eyebrow at the prone young man.

Harry, despite his weakened pain-filled state, simply returned the expression. "Well," he said, with black humour, "you have only just met me."

He let his head fall back onto the pillow. 'Could we discuss this tomorrow, Headmaster? I'm tired and in pain, and if Madame Pomphrey will let me have some dreamless sleep potion, I promise there will be no more screaming to disrupt your evening."

"I'd appreciate some too, if you don't mind," Draco added. Madame Pomphrey looked like she wanted to protest, but evidently sensing that this one was not worth fighting about, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the supply room to find the potion.

Harry sent an appraising look in his friend's direction and, interpreting it correctly, Draco shook his head. "Nothing serious," he said. "Just the battle. Was only a few hours ago, after all."

Harry didn't look convinced, but let it go.

Dumbledore watched the exchange carefully, noting the tremor still vibrating through Harry's limbs and the exhaustion returning to Draco's face and sighed.

"Very well. Tomorrow. Madame Pomphrey will inform me when you are awake."

The medi-witch nodded at Dumbledore as she returned, carrying two vials of dreamless sleep.

"Of course, Headmaster."

"Excellent. Goodnight then, Mr. Potter," he inclined his head towards Harry before moving his eyes in Draco's direction. "Mr. Malfoy."

It was a gamble, but the resigned half-irritated expression on Draco's face told him that it had been a wise one. "Headmaster," he replied.

Dumbledore smiled then, at the two of them and turned to leave. Just as he was about to step out the door, Harry's tattered voice sounded again.

"Oh, Headmaster? You might want to send some people to Diagon Alley. I don't know how much clean up stuff your Order does, but there's been an attack. Don't ask me how I know. It's complicated."

Dumbledore whirled around, fury blossoming on his face even as his complexion paled. "And you waited to tell me? How many more died while you were making conversation!"

He yanked open the door with the force of anger and spoke sharply to Professor McGonagall, who was waiting outside with Louis.

"Send some people to Diagon Alley, _now_. And tell them to expect casualties."

"Headmaster." Harry's voice cut through the air once more, growing faint as the adrenalin wore off. "It's too late. Finished ten minutes ago." _Before I woke up_, was the unspoken reprimand. "No wounded."

The three of them stared at him in horror, until McGonagall gathered her robes around her and ran, her wand sending message patronuses as she went, followed swiftly by Louis.

There was very little comfort in the grim expression on Dumbledore's face as he gazed at Harry, swiftly fading into sleep. "Tomorrow, Mr. Potter," he said with a hint of command in his voice.

Harry raised a still shaking hand in mock salute as the dreamless sleep began to take effect and his eyelids slowly fell. "Yes sir, Professor, sir. Tomorrow. G'night."

Dumbledore watched them for a moment longer, seeing how much younger they looked in the grasp of peaceful slumber and knew that he could not think of them like that. Not a single one of them. They were still strangers and mysteries and warriors and they were not young. Not where it mattered.

"Watch them, Poppy," he said and turned on his heel, closing the door behind him as he left.


	4. Ch 4: Stop being so bloody enigmatic

_Disclaimer: Still not mine. Obviously. _

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In his time, Louis had seen some fairly disturbing things. He'd seen people – wizards and muggles alike – at their worst and witnessed events that made him feel tainted in the depths of his soul, as if it was his hand that held the wand or the gun or the knife, his voice that taunted and screamed, his choices that destroyed and maimed and ruined. He'd seen things that made him weep for the human race and lose faith in their humanity.

Like this.

Diagon Alley had been decimated. He and the Order had apparated into the shocked silence that always seems to follow death – that moment when everything seems to slow down and sounds are muted and faint and all that there is, is death, lingering and still and _everywhere. _

There was no smoke, no fires, just death and silence. Shops had been torn down and broken glass glittered in the streets as the still streaming sunlight turned crimson puddles into rusty brown sludge. Half torn wizarding posters flashed and danced, their flicker of movement incongruous with the still, silent street. The air was hazy with dust from the fractured stone and mortar and Louis fancied he could still hear the cries of terror, faint and weak, echoes carried on motes of dusty light.

And through it all, this surreal and _terrifying_ scene, littered everywhere, he could see the bodies and the blood.

No wounded, indeed.

"Sweet Merlin," came the whispered epithet from Minerva McGonagall.

The rest of the Order stared, momentarily paralysed by the scene before them and it was only the muffled sounds of movement as survivors began to emerge from the destruction that reminded them who they were and why they were there.

"Right," said Louis grimly, though he kept his voice low, "to work, then. Merlin help us all."

It was late morning by the time the occupants of the hospital wing began to stir. Harry winced as he opened his eyes to see the bright rays of sunlight reflected back at him by the white walls of the room. He lay still for a moment as he remembered the events of the previous day and closed his eyes briefly as his dreams came flooding back to him. He found himself mentally flinching at the images. _It was supposed to be over, dammit. _For just a moment, yesterday, as he'd knelt in the midst of battle, with Voldemort's finally-dead-body sprawled in the dirt at his feet, he'd let himself relax, just for a second, in the knowledge that it was all finally over. That the fight he'd been fighting all his life, the terror, the struggle, the weight he'd borne, was done.

Over.

Finished.

For that one, single moment, he'd allowed himself to think of the future, to look forward to a tomorrow in which Voldemort was gone.

And then he'd found himself here.

In a moment's miscalculation and a flash of light, he was back to where he'd started. Back _before _he'd started.

He got up and walked to the window, resting his head against the cold clear glass. It simply wasn't _fair._

He was used to that though, really. Life had never truly been fair to him. Oh, it hadn't all been bad. He'd had joys, and love and laughter, however insignificant they may have seemed at times, but it had never been _fair. _

It's just that, yesterday, for a split second, he'd thought he'd done enough.

Apparently not.

"Harry?" A soft query came from behind him. "How're you doing, mate?"

Harry shifted slightly, to smile at his best friend even as he sighed. "I'm alright Ron. Just..."

'I know." Ron said quietly, echoing Harry's thoughts perfectly. " S'not really fair, is it? We were so close..." He trailed off for a moment, eyes going distant before he gripped Harry gently by the shoulder and spoke firmly. "We'll get back, Harry. We're alive and we're together, and let's face it, between the four of us, there's not much left in the world we haven't faced. We'll get back."

Harry grinned back at his friend. "Course we will. It's what happens between now and then that I'm worried about."

Ron grimaced. "You've got a point there. I'm still not sure where we bloody well are." He looked pensively at Harry. "Do you really think we've time travelled? I mean, I know it's possible – hell, you and Hermione have _done _it, but...it's just...so...so..." He struggled for words.

"It's bloody weird, is what it is," came a dry voice from across the room and Harry and Ron both turned to see Draco swinging himself out of bed, looking somewhat worse for wear. Although, Harry reflected, they probably all looked a bit unfortunate. They'd only defeated Voldemort yesterday, for fuck's sake.

Behind him, Hermione was sleepily struggling into a sitting position and Ron crossed the room without thinking to wrap her in a hug and press a gentle kiss into her hair.

"Alright, love?" he murmured.

She rested her head against his shoulders for a moment before gathering herself together and smiling tightly at Harry and Draco.

Ron kept his arms around her. "What do you think, 'Mione?" he asked, picking up the threads of the conversation.

She sighed, looking far older than her 18 years. "I don't know, Ron. I just don't know. I mean, time travel...it's just...theoretically, I suppose, it's possible... well, I _know _it's possible, I've done it, but this far? I don't know of any spells that could do that. I didn't even hear what he said, the wizard that cast it. Did you Harry?"

Harry made a face. "Nope. I was a bit dazed, to be honest. Everything kind of faded after, you know, Voldemort fell."

Draco smirked at him. "And you were too busy gaping at the Hufflepuff Death Eater. Rookie mistake, Mr I-just-defeated-the-darkest-wizard-of-all-time-but-got-caught-out-by-a-fucking-stereotype."

Harry stuck out his tongue, despite knowing Draco was right. "Oh come on. He was a Hufflepuff! They're scary, but they're not supposed to be evil! No self-respecting evil wizard would have anything to do with a word with that many f's in it! Anyway, it's not like you were any better." Draco's smirk grew. "Oh fucking hell. Out with it then. What bloody spell sent us here?"

"Well, it was a bit more like an incantation and I didn't recognise most of the words, but here..." Draco conjured a bit of paper and scribbled something on it before handing it to Hermione, who raised her eyebrows and started muttering under her breath as Ron glanced over her shoulder and sent a look of mingled amusement and bewilderment in Harry's direction.

Harry straightened from his position at the window, and crossed the room to sit on the end of Hermione's bed, facing Draco, who had stretched his limbs and was now seated in a conjured chair. He glanced at the spell scrawled on the paper and shrugged in confusion. "No idea." He ran his hand through his hair, sending his already dishevelled locks into more disarray.

"Right then. I'm sure we don't have long before someone comes to check on us and we need a plan. I suppose the first thing, then, is to figure out what the spell was and if we can counter it somehow. Hermione? Do you think the Hogwarts library will have what you need?"

He shrugged in response to Ron's questioning look, able now, after so many years, to know exactly what his friend was asking without words. "I think we have to accept that we're at Hogwarts, Ron. At least, we're at _a _Hogwarts, somewhere. Some_when_. Hermione?"

She looked thoughtful. "I agree."

"So do I," Draco shrugged as they looked at him. "It _feels _like Hogwarts. There's something there, something I can't put my finger on, that just _feels_ like it's the real thing."

Ron nodded at that. "Yeah, I know. I can feel it too. I just didn't want to jump to conclusions, you know? It just...well, it seems too good. To see it whole again."

Their Hogwarts had been all but destroyed a little over a year ago, in one of the most intense battles between the Order and the Death Eaters. Rebuilding had begun fairly quickly, but the four of them had spent enough time there and poured enough magic into the wards and the defences following the death of Dumbledore to know that no amount of rebuilding could ever make it feel the same. To have landed in a Hogwarts that not only looked as it had, before the battle, but also exuded the same sense of security and wonder that had been missing from theirs had definitely contributed to their disorientation. Even now, just sitting in the hospital wing and looking out the window at the familiar, yet impossible view added an extra element of surrealism to their already bizarre situation.

"I'm not sure if the library will have exactly what we need, but it's as good a place as any to start." Hermione said in reply to Harry's earlier question. "I'm sure Dumbledore could help as well, but I don't know how much we'll want to tell him."

"Or how much he'll be willing to help us." Draco added with a pointed look at Harry, who winced slightly. "You could have handled that better, you know," he said in reference to the confrontation the night before.

"What's this?" Ron asked.

Harry's hands clenched as he closed his eyes briefly, the memory of last night's pain shadowing his face for a moment. "Vision," he said shortly. "Wasn't pretty."

Ron and Hermione needed no other explanation, as both of their faces suddenly mirrored Draco's expression from the night before.

"Oh god, Harry. I'm sorry." Hermione whispered. "Where?"

It was Draco that answered, softly. "Diagon Alley. He didn't say anything until Dumbledore was about to leave and the Headmaster wasn't very happy about that. Might take some explaining."

Harry frowned. "I know, I know. I just...I wasn't really thinking clearly." He sighed. "I suppose that's the next thing we need to figure out. What do we tell Dumbledore? How much do we tell him? I mean, if we have travelled in time, then he's the same Dumbledore, right? Just younger?"

"I suppose so," Ron said dubiously.

"He's not the same though, is he?" Draco pointed out. "He doesn't know us. To him, we're a bunch of random strangers who turned up in the middle of his school, paranoid and covered in blood. Although, he's apparently figured out my family name and Harry's."

Ron snorted. "It's not that hard, mate. Anyone who's met either of your fathers could figure out who you were related to."

"Back at you, Weasley."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she considered their situation. "He is and he isn't. The same Dumbledore, I mean. I think we'll need to tell him what happened, but we have to be careful. For one thing, if we are in our own past, I'm not sure how much of what we do will affect our present. And that's an issue in itself."

Harry's head had snapped up at Hermione's last words and a myriad of emotions raced across his face including, for a brief moment, a desperate kind of hope. To _change_ things. Merlin. How many times had he wished he could change the past, live a different life, a _better _life.

As quickly as it had arisen, however, it was gone, replaced with long suffering resignation.

_No. _

He closed his eyes as Ron asked the obvious question. "We could change things? But...Harry.." He turned to look at his friend and seeing the look on his face, stopped mid-sentence. "Oh."

Harry opened his eyes and gave Ron a tight smile. "We can't. Even if it's possible. It would... we wouldn't...too many risks. We can't." _God damn fucking Voldemort._

"I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean to do that to you." Hermione grasped Harry's hand sympathetically. "Truthfully, I suspect we won't be able to change things. There's the whole paradox thing, for one. I'm just not absolutely certain."

"It's alright Hermione. I shouldn't have...it's alright." He took a deep breath. "All, the same, let's be careful what we let slip, yeah? Dumbledore – we can probably tell him the most, eventually, but we'll need to watch ourselves around others."

"Especially if we run into people we know," Draco added wryly. "Particularly your parents, Potter. And, you know, I saw Snape last night."

Harry made a face again. "God. I was trying not to think about that."

Ron opened his mouth to reply when all four of them heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the outside corridor. Glancing at the door and back at his companions, Harry suddenly became all business.

"Right. Spell is first priority, followed by finding a way home. We might as well let Dumbledore know who we are and what we came from. Give him some idea that we can be trusted. Keep it vague though, try not to give away too many details. At least until we're absolutely sure we won't rip giant holes in the space time continuum or something. And if we _are _in the past, in my _parent's schooldays_ for fucks sake, we have to be on our toes. Just..." He laughed then. "Constant vigilance, yeah? "

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand while Ron nodded decisively. "Okay mate."

"Don't worry, Potter. It's you, so chances are things'll get complicated no matter what _we_ do."

Three pairs of eyes glared at Draco.

"What? You know it's true."

"Know what's true, Mr. Malfoy?" A voice interrupted from the open doorway, where Dumbledore now stood, flanked by Madame Pomfrey and a grim looking Louis.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, depending on the point of view, not one of the four time travellers showed any sign of surprise. Louis was forced to remind himself again not to underestimate them, young though they might seem. They'd clearly been aware of Dumbledore's approach, despite their apparently engrossing conversation.

It was Harry who chose to answer the Headmaster's query. "Apparently, I attract complications. Who knew?"

He ignored Ron and Draco's suspiciously synchronised coughing and focused on the unamused wizard in front of him.

Dumbledore raised his brows. "Is that so?" He surveyed the room. "I'm happy to see that you're all awake. Poppy assures me that the worst of your wounds have healed, in which case, Mr Potter, I do believe you owe me an explanation."

Although his expression remained unchanged, Harry's eyes hardened somewhat, to glint with something Louis found it hard to identify.

"Owe you, Headmaster?" He said softly. "Perhaps I do. Ouch!" He yelped as Draco reached over and prodded him in the ribs. "What?"

"Stop being so bloody enigmatic, Potter."

This time it was Hermione who rolled her eyes. "Could we take this to your office, Headmaster? It's a long story and we might as well be comfortable."

"Certainly, Miss..?"

Hermione paused for a moment before replying. "Granger."

If he was surprised by the Muggle name, the Headmaster gave no sign of it. "Miss Granger. If you all feel up to it, we may certainly adjourn to my office. If you will follow me?" He turned on his heel and left, walking back the way he'd come.

The four of them looked at each other, shrugged and hastily getting themselves together, followed him out the door, noticing that while Madame Pomfrey had slipped back into the hospital wing, Louis remained by the door until they had passed and then fell in behind them. From the look on his face, he was still wrestling with the grim scenes he'd witnessed the previous night.

"Looks like we've got an honour guard," Ron muttered to Harry, his tone conveying a certain appreciation for Louis' caution.

Harry murmured something unintelligible in return as he noted Draco keeping the defence professor in the corner of his eye. Confident that one of them was keeping an eye the man, and making sure that Louis couldn't see his face, he gripped his friend tightly on the arm, leaning in close and lowering his voice.

"I didn't get a chance to ask you earlier," he said, letting the tiniest hint of his worry leak through, "about the battle, but...Ginny? And Sirius?" He bit his lip. "I lost track of them just before the whole Voldemort confrontation."

Ron ducked his head slightly to Harry's level. "Sirius was still alive when we got hit. He'd just taken Rookwood out and was heading towards us. Ginny?" He grimaced. "I saw her a few minutes before that, fighting with some of the DA, but after that, I don't know. Sorry, mate." He looked as worried as Harry and tried to give a reassuring smile that served only to increase the concern evident in his expression. "I'm sure she'll be fine. She was with Seamus and Neville and she can take care of herself."

"Damn," Harry whispered. "I know she can, but damn...she'd better bloody well be fine." He squeezed Ron's arm briefly before letting go and firmly pushing his worries to the back of his mind. There was nothing he could do it about it now. _Let her be alright, just please, please, let her be alright. _

The grey stone corridors of the school seemed somehow to constrict as they neared the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, the rough hewn rock casting shadows in the late morning light that lengthened and deepened in concord with the worries weighing on the minds of Harry and his friends. Far from now, the fate of those they loved was unknown, lost in a time that was present and future and past all at once, decided by events that, however much they wished to, they were unable to influence. Here and now, in a present that wasn't so much _now _as _then_, they had to toe the line between the familiar and the utterly foreign, somehow holding their own in a world filled with almost but not quite strangers and the living shades of those they'd already mourned.

It seemed it wasn't enough that they had not been allowed to rest, following the battle of their lives, unable to relax, to simply _stop_ for a moment. They also had to contend with the moral, emotional and magical consequences of being thrust out of time into what was, really, a royally fucked up situation. Harry, like his friends, was fighting a small part of himself that wished to simply throw caution to the wind and trust the Headmaster, whose wisdom and insight they had, in their own time, sorely missed. It was the same part of him that wished, just for once, that this could be somebody else's problem. Of course, for each one of them, this desire to place the burden on the shoulders of another was tempered by a long ingrained reliance on no-one but themselves and an awareness that this was another situation in which they could be certain only of each other.

Not for the last time, Harry found himself cursing whatever sadistic spirits of fate had conspired to send them here. He suspected that whenever he actually managed to die (having already made at least two fairly good attempts to cross that border only to find himself back where he started) he would be having serious words with whatever unearthly force thought this sort of thing was funny (Merlin help them if the words 'character building' entered that conversation at all...)

Louis too, found himself feeling hemmed in this morning by the cold stone walls, fighting still against the memories of blood and broken bodies that had haunted him, waking and briefly sleeping, since the night before. Watching the four young people walking in front of him now, he found his eyes drawn more and more often to Harry, who, he had to admit, unnerved him. It hadn't taken long, last night, as he levitated body after body from the rubble to realise that Harry had seen what he was seeing, had possibly even watched it happening, and had sat in the hospital wing and talked about it as if it were a common occurrence. Hell, he'd even _joked_. He knew he wasn't being fair, having also seen the expression of absolute agony in Harry's eyes when he'd woken up, but it terrified him that somebody half his age had not only been exposed to such nightmarish scenes, he also seemed to be able to cope with it better than Louis himself.

All in all, it was a quiet procession that wound its way through the school to Dumbledore's office, viewed by those students lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time with the curiosity and excitement that always follows something new and unknown. Dumbledore, Louis, and the four time travellers, noticing their not so hidden watchers, all knew that the school would be very quickly be humming with questions and theories regarding the latest additions to the castle's population. Hogwarts was, after all, well recognised by its staff as a highly efficient gossip machine, despite the highly debatable accuracy of said machine.

Of particular interest to certain members of the group, four young men leaning against the banisters of one of the staircases watched them pass with undisguised interest and some disappointment that their attempts to infiltrate the area surrounding the hospital wing during the night had been so wholly unsuccessful. At least one of them noticed the similarity between one of the travellers and one of their own and felt a strange sense of foreboding at the resemblance, as if it suggested an entanglement of fates that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A feeling, a moment of intuition, that there was something about them that related directly to the four of them, something _relevant_ that couldn't quite be guessed at.

Similarly relevant, but lacking the intuition to acknowledge it, another young man watched from the shadows near the staircase, completely unaware that he was, to these strangers, anything more than another unknown student in Slytherin colours. An adolescent Snape observed the four of them with the same detachment he called on during potions, cataloguing their properties and apparent attributes silently in his mind, together and apart, as he tried to imagine their effect on the complicated dynamics of Hogwarts.

The brief flash of half-surprised recognition in Ron's eyes as they passed was equalled by a less definable spark of suppressed emotion in the eyes of Harry and Draco. For the latter, at least, it was somewhat unnerving to see, in the flesh, a younger, meaner, more cowardly version of someone he greatly respected, to set eyes on Severus Snape _before _he became the intimidating, intelligent and unbelievably brave man Draco knew. It was almost something he wished he didn't have to witness.

For Harry, although he too was unnerved by young Snape, it was, understandably, his parents that caused such an intense reaction. To be in a place, or a time, where they lived and breathed was like finding himself in the midst of the long wished for dream that had suddenly unfolded in a particularly unexpected way.

Although he would have denied it, the thought of seeing his parents again, young though they might be, had been on Harry's mind since he'd seen them in the great hall last night. Even then, thinking they were a hallucination, another figment of his or somebody else's imagination, he'd been wrestling with the prospect of talking to them, watching them, interacting with them, _knowing _them. Now, facing the very real possibility that they were in fact the same people who had loved him and given their lives for him he was also completely and utterly aware that they were not. They were seventeen year old kids, almost the same age as him, in years at least, miles from the parents he had imagined and missed his entire life. To be fair, sometimes Harry wondered if _any_ version of his parents would match up to the people he carried in his mind, shaped from the half-forgotten memories of a baby and stories told through the lens of loss and wistfully remembered good times.

No, they weren't his parents. Not really.

And yet, they were.

Merlin, time travel sucked.

And with that thought, the six of them found themselves passing the Gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office and heading up the stairs to a very familiar room.

Stepping through the door, Dumbledore took his customary seat behind his desk, conjuring chairs for his guests and watching as Hermione, Ron and Draco settled themselves, while both Harry and Louis elected to remain standing, Louis by the door and Harry, having crossed the room to the window, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Neither Dumbledore nor Louis failed to notice that Harry had chosen to stand in a position from which he could see both of their wand hands as well as the faces of his friends. To be honest, it had been more habit on Harry's part than any intent to intimidate. In any situation in which he felt uncomfortable, it had become an automatic response to go on the defensive. It was part of what had kept him alive these last couple of years.

"Well," Dumbledore said, once they had sat down. "For the sake of formality, perhaps we could start with your identities? I already know, from your companion's impressive oath last night, that it is not your intention to harm us, and I suspect I am correct in surmising that your appearance here was as much of a shock to you as it was to us?"

It was Hermione who took the lead, with a polite smile. "You could say that. Hermione Granger, sir.

Draco leaned back in his chair, the picture of aristocratic detachment. "Draco Malfoy."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter," came the quiet response from the window as Harry gazed at the Headmaster and quirked his lips in a half smile. "But you knew that already."

There was a brief answering twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he replied dryly. "Yes, well. Between your companion's chosen forms of address and your rather distinctive appearance, it wasn't a particularly difficult puzzle. I am curious however, to know how a Malfoy came to be friends with a Weasley and a Potter. But perhaps that is a story for a later time..."

"Oh, I don't know," Ron interrupted. "Nobody ever said we were friends. To be honest," he said in a stage whisper, shielding his face from Draco's amused gaze, "between you and me, he's a bit of a git. Stuck up, you know?"

"Arrogant too. Bit annoying really." Hermione chipped in, studiously avoiding looking at the Slytherin sitting next to her.

"Vain, spiteful, slimy Slytherin peacock."

Five pairs of eyes swung towards Harry, who simply grinned and shifted out of the way of Draco's stinging hex.

Dumbledore coughed. "Ah, yes. Well..."

It was Draco himself who took pity on Dumbledore, answering his question calmly. "What these idiots are failing to communicate is that we learnt long ago to look past the name and see the individual. I am not merely my last name, Headmaster. Neither are they."

At Harry's pointed look, he rolled his eyes. "Fine. Some of us learnt this. Some of us were forced to re-evaluate our earlier assumptions by circumstances beyond our control."

The sparkle of amusement that had entered Dumbledore's eyes at their banter faded somewhat at this reply, to be replaced by a gleam of thoughtful speculation. Perhaps sensing that this was the best answer he was likely to get at this stage, he chose to let the matter drop and address, instead, the more immediately relevant question of their arrival in this time and place.

Before he could open his mouth, however, Hermione spoke, nodding her head sharply in Louis' direction. "Headmaster. I believe there's one more introduction to be made."

Louis looked amused.

"Oh yes, forgive me. This is Louis Bancroft, our latest Defence professor and a friend of mine from some time ago."

Louis simply nodded his head in their direction, electing to remain silent. Harry, Ron and Draco nodded back.

"Right." Dumbledore folded his hands on the table and began to catalogue what he knew. "We've established your identities, to an extent. Your names are familiar to me, but also unknown. I know of no Potter, Weasley or Malfoy who carries your given names. And the name Granger is not one I have ever heard before, which suggests to me that you are muggleborn, my dear. Still, I know of no muggleborn of your age with that name. Based on what was said last night, I have surmised that we – at least some of us – are familiar to you. Indeed, you seem to know some of us very well. Yet you all also exhibit a certain degree of discomfort around us and described your situation last night more than once as 'impossible'. I suspect that wherever you come from, some, if not many, of the people visible in the great hall last night, including myself, are dead." Noting the slight tensing of the four time-travelers at this deduction, Louis was forced to admit that the Headmaster was probably right on that count. _That was disturbing._

"You, Mr Potter," Dumbledore continued, nodding at Harry, "mentioned something about alternate dimensions and time travel last night, and your request to know the date leads me to conjecture that you believe yourselves to be in a different time. The fact that wherever, or whenever, you have come from you have need of battle worthy personal protections and seem to possess combat skills far beyond your ages disturbs me greatly, especially so if you are, in fact, from our future. Your vision last night, and reticence in telling me of it, is another extremely disturbing factor, although now that I have had time to think on it, one that is most likely of borderline relevance to your appearance here." He fixed Harry with a grim gaze. "I still expect an explanation about that, Mr Potter, but I am inclined both to give you the benefit of the doubt, for now, and to think that it is not the main issue we should be concerned with."

Harry inclined his head slightly in acquiescence, slightly taken aback by how much Dumbledore had been able to deduce, although he realised, on second thoughts, he really shouldn't have been.

"And what would that be, Headmaster?" asked Hermione, her face completely shuttered. Harry suspected she too had been startled by Dumbledore's deductions. "The main issue?"

"I believe that would be where or when exactly you came from, how you arrived here and precisely what your intentions are in my school, Miss Granger."

If Hermione was intimidated, she showed no sign of it. "I think we can answer that, sir, although you must be aware that we are making a number of educated guesses."

She looked at Harry quickly, and Louis caught the small nod he gave her in return, denoting once again, his position as leader for the four of them.

"I think it's safe to tell you that yes, we were in the middle of a fight, on a date sometime in the future, so yes, I do think that we've time travelled. I'm unsure if we're still in our own time stream, or an alternate, parallel one, and I'm afraid I'd rather not be more specific than that with the circumstances of our origins until I know for certain that we are in our own past and what effect, if any, it will have on our present. All the same, I'm sure that, knowing our names, you've already speculated on exactly who we are, and who we're related to in our own time." She sighed. "We definitely did not expect to end up here and arrived here due to a spell executed by another party, against our will. As for our intentions, Headmaster? I think I speak for all of us when I say we'd like, first and foremost, to find a way back to our own people and our own time. Anything else pales in importance after that."

She arched her eyebrows at Dumbledore with a poise she wouldn't have been able to master a year ago. "Is that a satisfactory answer, Headmaster?"

He ignored the slight undercurrent of sarcasm, and simply looked thoughtful. "Not exactly. Oh, I understand your reticence, under the circumstances, and I'm satisfied that you aren't here with the intention to cause harm" he said, waving a hand to still Hermione's half voiced protest, "although, I think I'll ask you all to make an oath similar to the one Mr Potter made last night, just to be sure. It's simply that what you've said raises far more questions than it answers. For one, if we are to assist you in returning to where you came from, I must insist you tell me exactly what happened to send you here. What spell, who cast it, what did it look like? How _exactly_ did you end up in a ball of magic in the middle of the Great Hall duringwhat was a perfectly ordinary, or as Louis would say, boring dinner?"

Harry's eyes snapped to the headmaster at that, as Hermione seemed to contemplate exactly how much she should say and how to phrase it, and after a brief moment, he grinned, deciding to lighten the atmosphere a little. Ron and Draco saw the expression on his face and both found themselves in equal states of dread and resignation.

Louis, who was still watching Harry like a hawk, raised his eyebrows at the young man's sharp shift of composure and, seeing the slightly mischievous glint in Harry's eyes, began to suspect that whatever answer they were going to get, it wasn't exactly going to be...what was the word..._serious._

Sure enough, Harry's face took on a look of overly earnest sincerity.

"Well," he said. "You know how, in first year at Hogwarts, the sorting hat tells you the characteristics of the four houses? You know, Gryffindors are brave, Slytherins are cunning, Ravenclaws are smart and Hufflepuffs are loyal?"

At Dumbledore's confused nod, he continued. "And you know how then, 'cause you're only eleven, right, and the world's a pretty simply place, you kind of expand on those characteristics? So, all Ravenclaws like books and riddles and equations and are kind of infuriatingly superior and all Gryffindors are rash and quick to anger but have an irrational fondness for practical jokes and don't really have any common sense. Slytherin cunning turns into plain evil, although they don't exactly help the image. I mean, the arrogance doesn't really help, or the fixation with snakes or the bigotry and the deceit ...

"And the sneering," Ron interjected, his expression as earnest as that of his friend. "Face of evil, sneering."

"Or, you know, the whole Dark Lord debacle," added Hermione, and Louis could see the twitch of her lips as she fought a smile.

"Exactly. And, really, 'Slytherin' just sounds evil. And they put you in the dungeons. Seriously, were they trying to make the world frightened of you?" The last part was directed at Draco, who merely rolled his eyes, having heard this rant before (and retaliated more than once with a similar diatribe about the overvaluation of idiotic bravery in the wizarding world and the blatant heroic symbolism of the Gryffindor brand), and gave Harry a pointed look as if to remind him to get back on topic.

Harry simply grinned back at his friend and continued, _apparently_ explaining how they came to be where they were.

"And Hufflepuffs. You're told that they're loyal and that's _all _you're told, and so you start to think they must be pretty harmless too. You know, into teddy bears and hugs and really _nice_. They have a badger for a house animal, for Merlin's sake. A badger! An animal that _looks _like a teddy bear and spends most of its life being shy and hiding underground. Lion, snake, eagle – at least the other houses have animals that you can respect. And they make them yellow! And nickname them 'Puffs! It's really no surprise that we're conditioned to think that Hufflepuffs are nice and friendly and completely incapable of harming anyone."

Here, Harry paused in his tirade, which had Louis struggling to hide his laughter, and fixed Dumbledore with a completely serious, almost tragic expression.

"Let me tell you, man..." and here Ron and Draco both choked and Hermione's mouth twitched even more furiously. _Did he just call Albus, 'man', _Louis thought incredulously.

"...it's just not true. It's all wrong. Look at us. Hermione's the smartest person I've ever met. The smartest person you'll ever meet, and not only is she Gryffindor, she even has common sense _and_ she can do things other than read books. Most of the time. And Ron, he's a Gryffindor too, and, no, wait, he's completely stereotypical." Harry grinned at the redhead and carried on. "But Draco, he's a Slytherin and really, he's...well, actually," he frowned in confusion so sincere it had to be fake, "he's not evil, but he's pretty much everything else."

Harry ignored the glare Draco was directing his way and blithely continued. "Well, the point is, Headmaster, the world teaches us that Hufflepuffs are harmless and cuddly and they're not. They're deadly. Dangerous." He stared at the Headmaster, serious and businesslike, as if imparting words of the utmost importance. "And we just weren't prepared for it."

Dumbledore, by now, had a heavily resigned expression on his face, although he couldn't quite seem to repress a glimmer of amusement.

"So," he said, raising a sceptical eyebrow, "you're telling me that you are here because you underestimated a Hufflepuff?"

His friends appeared to have given in to their struggle to a keep a straight face and were sitting there in open amusement. Even Harry seemed to be finding it hard not to smile as he solemnly told the Headmaster. "Never underestimate a Hufflepuff, sir. One day, they'll take over the world and we'll never see it coming."

Dumbledore lifted his eyes heavenward then, in mute supplication. Apparently, no insights nor help were forthcoming, for he lowered them again and gazed in resignation at Harry, who was still leaning against the wall, looking amused.

"I see. Merlin knows what you're going to do to my sanity, Mr Potter. I assume there was some reason you felt inclined to answer my question in that way?"

Harry shrugged, still smiling. "Call it pre-emptive retribution, Headmaster. I've spent far too much time in this office listening to you explain things in completely infuriating cryptic stories not to jump at the chance to turn the tables."

Louis laughed out loud. At Dumbledore's faint look of betrayal, he said. "He has a point, Albus. You are infuriatingly cryptic sometimes."

"It's the beard," added Ron, with the ease of one who'd mocked a few authority figures in his time, friendly or not. "And the half moon glasses. I think he feels like he has to live up to the beard and be all wise and mysterious and enigmatic. I bet, if he had short hair and different glasses he'd be unnervingly concise and to the point."

Louis laughed even more at the slightly outraged look on the Headmaster's face as the four visitors from the future took his control of the conversation and dangled it just out of reach. He could see what they were doing and marvelled, both at their ability to keep the Headmaster on his toes and the skill with which they switched from serious to playful and back again, without ever letting either of their observers see beneath their masks. Louis strongly suspected that there was very little he or any other member of the staff would be able to get out these four that they did not wish to give. It was something to remember.

After a little more discussion on Dumbledore's proclivity for the cryptic, Harry took pity on the Headmaster and pulled them all back to reality.

"In all truth, sir, we're not entirely sure how we came to be here. Things were..._confusing_, to say the least. There _was_ a Hufflepuff involved, and I will stand by my statement that they'll end up in the world domination business, but it was a spell that none of us recognise, although Draco was fortunate enough to hear it. We were hoping that we might be able to use the Hogwarts library to figure it out – well, Hermione was. I suspect it might go over the rest of our heads. Especially if there's quantum involved. And there's bound to be, if we're talking about time travel. " He made a face.

"May I hear it?"

Hermione passed him the piece of paper Draco had written the spell on earlier.

"Hmm," Dumbledore peered at them over his spectacles. "I'm afraid this doesn't ring any bells, but I imagine that the Hogwarts library would be as a good a place as any to start. I may have some books here which could help as well."

"Thank you. We'd appreciate that."

"Very well. I suppose the next thing to discuss is how we're going to present the four of you to the school, particularly in light of your very public entry last night. I'm not sure if you are willing to simply let the truth be known or not?"

It was Ron who answered this one, looking to Harry, Hermione and Draco as he did. "I don't think we want people to know that we're from the future, especially if it turns out that we are in ...what did you say, 'Mione? The same time stream? If that got back to the wrong people, it could create all sorts of problems. But the way Hogwarts is, we'll have to tell them something, right? Otherwise people who think like my brothers will spend all their time trying to figure it out, or making up even worse theories. So," he leaned forward, "I reckon we should tell them something that's nearly the truth, but not quite. Is travel between dimensions actually possible? Hermione?"

She looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure, Ronald. I don't _think _so. The idea's there, but the power required to jump dimensions and the chances of there actually being dimensions to jump to are kind of ...wishy–washy..."

"Wishy-washy? Right. But most people wouldn't know that, would they?"

"No, I shouldn't think so. It's really a question for academics."

"Okay then." He looked up at everyone, staring back at him with expressions ranging from confused to appreciative to expectant. "I don't think we can get away with telling everyone it was an accident, or making up identities. It was pretty bloody public and I reckon we've given away too much already. So, I think we should tell everyone the truth, pretty much, but swap the time travel bit for alternate dimensions. We can tell people our names – say that Harry's a cousin of the Potters who just doesn't exist in this dimension. Same for Draco, just say that in our dimension the Potters and the Malfoys are really good family friends or something. We can explain the battle the same way. See? That way, we'd hardly have to change our stories, but everything would have happened in another reality, so no-one could use the information to try and change things, or create paradoxes or anything like that. We'd be a novelty, but I reckon people would get over it pretty quickly, especially if we seem like we're telling the truth and if we get our stories straight, we should be able to pass off all the little things as dimensional differences or something. What d'you think?"

"I think that might work, Ron," said Harry, contemplating the possibilities.

"It's got potential, Weasley."

Dumbledore gazed at Ron. "I agree, Mr Weasley. That sounds like it might make a lot of sense. Why don't the four of you talk it over this afternoon - I can provide you with a place to discuss things safely, and get back to me this afternoon? Then I can introduce you at dinner, this evening."

"Sure, Headmaster."

"I'm afraid I will have to ask you each to swear an oath – not you, Mr Potter, yours was sufficient last night – before you leave, however. I'd rather not take any unnecessary risks."

Hermione, Ron and Draco all paused for a moment before assenting.

"Excellent. One last thing. Mr Potter, I believe it's time for that explanation?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair, furiously trying to figure out how much he could say at this stage, how much he _wanted _to say. He glanced at his friends, but from the looks on their faces, he was on his own on this one.

"I'll do my best, Headmaster. First though, I want an oath from both of you, especially you, Professor Bancroft, was it? I don't know you, and while I respect your right to be here, this doesn't leave this room."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and Louis, who had remained fairly unobtrusively for the last parts of the conversations, found himself approving, once again, of Harry's caution.

"Very well."

Oaths taken care of, Harry still wasn't sure how to explain it.

"Right. Well, I suppose the short version is that I have visions. I'm not a seer or clairvoyant in any way whatsoever. These...visions...are the result of something that happened to me a while ago, that I'd rather not go into, but that seem to link me, willing or unwilling, to scenes like the one last night. Sort of." He paused, trying to be truthful but vague enough not to give away any spoilers about Voldemort in the future. At least, until they knew whether or not it was alright to do so. "It usually happens when I'm asleep, and it's painful. Really fucking painful. Half the time, I can't wake myself. These events don't occur _because _of my visions, if that's what you're worried about, and there's nothing I can do to affect them, 'cause they're happening in real time."

He raked a hand through his hair, thinking about how much more they'd already given away and how much he could actually say. "I'm guessing, from what we said in the great hall last night, that you've picked up on the fact that the..._effects," _he said carefully, "of Voldemort are still felt in my time and I will say that I'm not surprised that my vision last night was tied to him and his actions.

Dumbledore nodded, having indeed picked up on this, although he'd hoped there might have been another explanation for it. He took note of Harry's careful wording, aware that the dark haired wizard was subtly warning him not to make too many assumptions about the future by being both vague and selectively specific. It was, to say the least, an interesting way to put it.

Louis, on the other hand, was noting the shadow of long endured pain in Harry's eyes as he spoke and found himself recoiling from the idea that Harry had been forced to experience what he was describing more than once. He also recognised that, despite their oaths, the young man wasn't exactly being forthcoming about this, despite the admission about Voldemort, which was, frankly, disturbing as hell. In fact, Louis would go so far as to describe that explanation as frustratingly vague and only marginally better than no explanation at all.

Harry seemed to be aware of this as he looked at the Headmaster apologetically. "I really can't tell you more than that. It's too sensitive, and until we're _certain_ that we won't affect the future...I really don't want to take that chance." If it helps, your future self was fully aware of the circumstances surrounding them and trusted me completely. I'm sorry. That's really all I can offer."

Dumbledore looked unhappy with the vague answer, but seemed to understand.

"I will apologise, though," Harry said, "for the way I handled it last night, although I don't think it would have made much of a difference anyway. I was...well, it had been a _really_ long day."

Dumbledore thought there might have been more to it than that, but figured it was best left for another time. "Apology accepted, Mr Potter. Perhaps, if this occurs again while you are here, it would be prudent to let me know?"

"I'll do my best."

"Good." He stood up then, gesturing for Louis to open the door. "Well, then. Louis can show you to a room where you can talk safely. I'd appreciate it if you didn't leave the grounds just yet, at least not until we've got your story straight. Feel free to use the library, Miss Granger. Until this afternoon, then."

As the five of them left his office, Dumbledore sat down again, reached for his ever present lemon drops and mused silently on the events of the past twenty four hours.

He hated to think it, but there was really only one word which covered everything.

He couldn't help himself. _Interesting, _he thought.

* * *

_A/N: I suspect I'll regret posting this without doing a proper read through and edit, but I really just want to get it up. I'm pretty sure there's a few holes, and the last part in particular, is a bit hurried, so forgive me if it seems too much that way. Again, this is unbeta'd so please let me know if you spot any mistakes or serious plot holes and I'll do my best to remedy the situation. _

_Hopefully the slightly larger word count makes up for the delay in posting. I was thinking of posting this as two chapters, but kind of arbitrarily decided on one. _

_As always, please review. Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated. Thank you to all those who have already reviewed. It really does help me continue.  
_

_24/06/10: Slight changes to the end of the chapter. Nothing plot wise.  
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_Louise.  
_


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